


if we get together

by temerity (forsanethaec)



Series: midori sours [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fraternities & Sororities, Genderswap, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:37:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forsanethaec/pseuds/temerity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall's a sorority girl. Louis is a soccer bro. They meet at a mixer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if we get together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [balefully](https://archiveofourown.org/users/balefully/gifts).



> for a sorority girl niall prompt specifically dealing with his apparent love of midori & lemonade. (CHOICES, NIALL.) i banged this out kind of stoned in an afternoon so please excuse typos/idiocy/under-writing of the sex scene. title is obvi from live while we're young.

Niall picks her sorority based on which one's hand gesture she can best execute while drunk, which lands her in ADPi. They also don't make her wear white to rush, so they're off her shit-list from the start. They like her because she's sweet and loud with long blonde hair, plus there's probably some kind of international student minimum they have to meet, but whatever works. 

She wears a Notre Dame pinnie with a bandeau and her Celtics snapback, backwards, to their appropriately sports-themed mixer with soccer and lacrosse. She stations herself against the kitchen counter before things get too wild and starts staining her solo cup of vodka lemonade green with Midori in a flask. It's fun to watch it spiral in, like food coloring that gets you wasted. Niall ticks her hips to the music against the counter, smiling apologetically at a nearby boy who looked like he was considering trying to talk to her, like, _hi, honey, no_. She really does feel a bit sorry, if that counts for anything.

She on her third drink, scanning the room to see if her little's hooking up with anyone yet, when Laura appears at her arm. 

"Oh my god, I didn't think you were actually gonna wear it! St. Patrick's Day isn't for another two months." 

"I'm gonna wear my real Irish shite to that one, duh," Niall says. "This is all American, see, look." She flips the Celtics hat forward. "I'll make a dress out of the tri-color for St. Patrick's. God, you don't even know what the tri-color is, do you?"

Laura ignores this, pursing her lips. "The bandeau looks hot," she concedes. "So, anyway. That one." She's still shouting, just closer to Niall's ear, her pink lips smudging against the shell of it. Niall leans in.

"Which one?"

"There." Laura points over her shoulder to a shortish guy with sharp, shrewd features and soft brown hair swooping across his forehead. "His name's Louis. One of the soccer ones. He was dating that girl Eleanor in DG until they broke up, like, two weeks ago, you know?"

"No," Niall says, then, halfway through a sip of her drink, "yes! You showed me his Facebook on, like, Tuesday. Oh my god, you're trying to set me up."

"Niall, it's a _mixer_ ," Laura says. "Give me some Midori. Go mix." 

Niall rolls her eyes and tosses her hair so that it gets in Laura's face. 

"You come give me that back," she says as she hands over her flask -- with a green rhinestone studded shamrock on the front, a joke gift that Niall shamelessly treasures. "In case I need an escape route." 

"Yes, I will come cockblock you if you need me." Laura rolls her eyes and blows a kiss. "Now get off the counter before you get in trouble for being boring."

Niall flips the bird as she spins out, laughing. She's never the one who gets in trouble for being boring. 

The kitchen is hot and over-bright and smells like people trying to hook up, and it's infectious. Niall weaves through the crowd, laughing hello to her friends, before she reaches Louis. He's talking to his teammates by the beer pong sign-up board. 

"Need a partner?" she asks. She almost rolls her eyes at herself, this routine is so lame, but somehow she always winds up loving it. He turns, eyes wide.

"No, I think I'm -- yes, very much in need of a partner, hello," he says, shifting pointedly to shut his mates out of the conversation. She sees them groan and laugh and cross his and someone else's name off the board. "Are you Irish?"

"What gave me away?" 

"That shamrock flask you had before, actually," he says, grinning. 

"Watching me, were you?" She twinkles under the attention.

"Saw your friend point me out, as well."

"Well, it is a _mixer_ ," she drawls. "Or so they tell me. I'm Niall." 

"Louis," he says, grinning at her for a moment before sticking his hand out to shake. "I like your name." She giggles. They're crowded quite close together in the packed room, though they still have to raise their voices to speak. His eyelashes are nice. He's still smirking a bit at her, not saying anything. 

"Are you the football team's token foreigner too, then, Louis?" she asks finally, feeling a bit flushed. She takes a sip of her drink. 

"Yeah, helping these heathens uphold the glorious name of proper English football," he says, kicking backwards to get the attention of one of his mates. "With this lad. Liam, say hi, be a gentleman." 

The so-called Liam turns as though he wasn't already listening. "Hi," he says. He's large and sweet-looking and makes Louis look compact and golden beside him. Niall's feeling a bit dazed. 

"Hi, Liam." She shakes his hand, laughing a bit. "I'm being serious, here -- you two are so fucking British, it's ridiculous. Are there any more of you I should be worrying about?"

"Sadly, no. And thank you," Louis says, tipping an invisible cap. Liam rolls his eyes at him fondly and backs out of the conversation, winking at Niall. Louis touches her wrist, easily, with warm fingers. She's leaning in to hear him better. "Were you saying something about being my pong partner, before, love?"

"Yes," she says immediately. "Who're we playing? I'll smash 'em." 

"Don't fuck me over, now," he says. He's got the most amazing sparkly little crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiles. She wants to touch them, and his hair and most of the rest of him, and is on the point of doing so when Laura appears at her elbow. 

"Hey girl hey," she yells over the music. "Want your flask back?"

"Thanks, babe." Niall draws back from Louis and throws an arm around Laura's shoulders, face into her neck. "Fuck me, he's so cute," she murmurs. Laura's laughing as Niall draws back, flask in hand. "I'll come find you later, yeah?"

"Yeah, whatever." Laura waggles her eyebrows at Louis and disappears again. Niall chooses not to comment on this, despite the fact that Louis is fixing her with the growing grin of someone who's starting to realize they're going to get laid tonight. She tops her drink off. 

"Excuse me," he says, "but what the fuck is that you've just put in your drink?"

"Midori," she says. "You want some? It might make the keg beer taste like, eh, anything at all."

"Need I remind you," he says, slipping a hand around her waist and guiding her to the end of the beer pong table, "that this is your house, and that is your keg." 

"Oh, I know," she says cheerfully, fluttering her eyelashes at him before turning to the boys around them. "Who wants to lose?"

Niall's trump card is that she's actually good at beer pong, unlike almost all the rest of her sorority sisters, who either only claim to be good or act cute that they aren't. Louis cheers, lifting her up at the hips with one arm when she makes three in a row on their third turn. His side is warm, and she turns her face into his neck for a moment when he puts her down, dizzy and grinning.

He's a gentleman and drinks the few cups on their side for her, but she's finished her lemonade by the time they're done their first game anyway. 

"Is that kind of abysmal performance why our football team keep losing?" she asks him, then shrinks away, cackling and shielding her head while he gasps in outrage.

"Did they tell you our record as research for the party, hm, or do you actually follow the teams at this school?"

"Fuck you," she says, easy, "gotta follow something. Left Derby County at home."

"Oh my god, you would," he says. "Fuck, did you really just say that? You're like I dreamed you up." 

Niall flips her hair, licking at the lipstick on her mouth and putting a steadying hand on his waist so she can lean in and yell a little less. "That's a good line," she says. "Do you want to smoke? I've got a bit up in my room."

"If you do," he says, leaning in to almost murmur it in her ear. She feels his stubble on her cheek for a moment and shivers. Managing to flirt like this while she's a little drunk always makes her feel amazing.

"Let me get a refill, yeah?" she asks.

"Ditto. Meet you at the stairs in two minutes." 

She salutes, laughing, and stares at his bum as he heads for the keg. His jeans are almost as skinny as hers, which she would take as a bad sign had he not been touching her so much, or if he wasn't so hot. 

She finds him at the bottom of the stairs two minutes later, stirring the Midori into her new vodka lemonade with her pinky finger. She's about to lick it clean when he catches her wrist. 

"Let's have a taste of this girly drink," he says, glancing up for a moment while her finger drips onto his wrist. She nods okay, staring. He pulls her finger into his mouth, sucks the liquor off it, his tongue rough on her skin and his eyes wicked on hers.

He pulls off with a pop. "Tastes like Skittles," he says, licking his lips.

"You are ridiculous," Niall says, trying not to swoon. "Is this how you woo all the girls?"

"What?" He looks outraged, or pretends to, and she smiles in spite of herself as she leads him up the stairs. "No, the many blonde Derby fan Irish girls I've met at this school get special treatment." 

"Oh, good." She's walking backwards, laughing, and of course she trips on someone's Romance Languages textbook of all things. She's about to go flying when Louis is there, sudden and precise, his arm around her waist and his other hand at her shoulder. 

"Steady there, love," he says into collarbone as she laughs harder, wobbling. 

"My fuckin' hero," she says.

"Shit, you're the hero," he says, pulling back. "Didn't spill a drop of your drink. _Class_."

"Priorities," she says, tapping him on the nose. He's a full head shorter than her standing a step down, his chin tipped up. It's unbearably cute. "You're unbearably cute," she says aloud, and then she leans down to kiss him, her heart leaping once. He's still got his hands on her hip and shoulder, bare skin in both places, and she feels his fingers shift for a moment, tightening as he kisses back, pulling her down and straining up. He licks her lower lip and catches it against his teeth and then pulls back.

"Tastes like Skittles," he says, then bursts out laughing. 

"Jesus," she says. "Get out. You're uninvited to my room." 

"I had to," he says, gasping for breath and straightening up. "Oh, god. How can I make it up to you?" 

She leans back against the bannister so that he has to step up onto her same stair to talk to her properly. Another girl in the houses passes heading down, giving Niall a double thumbs up and a beaming grin behind his back, which Niall ignores, suavely. She's still considering her options. 

"Swap drinks," she says finally. "I saw you steal a Rolling Rock from the fridge before. Party foul, mate." 

"Jesus Christ. Not the Midori thing. That is a fate worse than death."

"It is the price you must pay," she intones. "Oi, unless you've drugged it. Fuck, I could be playing right into your hands." 

"Babe, I'm not that smart," he says, smiling. He's suddenly right against her, nearly standing on her toes on the narrow tread of the stair. He takes her green lemonade out of her hand and presses his beer into hers, making sure their fingers touch. 

She lets him stay in her space for a second, holding his gaze, sure he can feel the kickstart of her heartbeat when he looks at her like that. Then he pulls back. 

"You're pretty," he tells her, like he's only just decided. 

"You wear too much cologne," she retorts. He doesn't, of course; he smells insanely lovely, but he could do with some cutting down to size. "Come upstairs." She takes his hand, because why not, before pulling him up into the hall to the bedrooms.

He spends a full ten seconds looking around at her side of the room's riot of green, white and orange, at the neat bedsheets, scarves thrown over a lamp, her guitar propped in a corner. She sets down her drink -- his drink, which she's chugged half of between the stairs and him closing the door behind them. The weed's in the top drawer of her dresser behind him, but when she turns it's to find him right in front of her. 

"Oh," she says, "hi," and then his mouth's on hers. She kisses back, lets him slip his tongue between her lips, gets her hands in his hair because fuck she's been wanting to touch it all night. It's as soft as it looks, which pairs well with the stubble rasping at her face as he kisses her mouth and then her neck. She wraps her arms tighter around him, letting him press her into the edge of her desk so she's half sitting, and his hands are at her slim hips, pushing up her pinnie while he kisses her desperately. 

Her lipstick's on his mouth when he comes up for air, and she thumbs at it, grinning, panting a bit. 

"God," he says. His eyes are sparkling. "That Midori's deadly." 

"Oh, fuck. Tastes like Skittles," she blurts, far too late. "Fuck, I fucked up the joke."

He laughs, a private, delighted little sound that makes her wildly happy. His fingers are at the hem of her pinnie as he steps closer. "You're amazing," he murmurs.

"Stop that." She takes off her snapback and puts it on his head.

"Fuck the Celtics, go Heat!" he crows, tossing it Frisbee-style onto her roommate's bed. She ignores him with her best aloof NBA stare. "And I'll call you amazing all I want," he adds, prodding at her so that she backs up and drops onto her mattress with a gentle bounce. He prods again so that she scoots back, eyes turned up toward him. 

"Is this okay?" he asks, climbing up with her so that he's sitting on her shins. 

"Yeah," she says, a little breathless. She wants to take her top off but also really wants him to do it for her. 

"I do still want to smoke," he says. "And I want you to play that guitar for me, and tell me who's in those pictures." He points to the bedside table. "But right now, I'd like to eat you out." 

"Okay," she laughs, "Jesus, Louis."

"Stop saying my name." He kicks his shoes off and gets on his knees beside the bed. "Fuck, it's so cute. Lie down." 

He peels off her jeans and panties and puts his mouth on her eagerly, until she's gasping, begging for it -- just to the left, that, now, just right there, pushing her hips down into the thrust of his tongue. 

Her thighs are tight around his head, both hands in his hair. She's shaking all over when she comes. Her shoulderblades are sore from being pushed into the mattress.

"Never thought I'd have an orgasm like that in a Notre Dame pinnie," she tells the ceiling, breathing hard. He comes into view wiping his mouth, his hair a wreck, grinning incorrigibly. "C'mere," she says. It's quieter than it should be, soft and sweet, and it's so intimate for a moment when he lies down next to her that she loses her breath. 

She jerks him off, loving the way he holds onto her side beneath her shirt, thumbing erratically at a nipple through her bandeau. He curls into her, high little moans pushing into the space between them, kissing haphazardly at the corner of her mouth. It's exhilarating to watch him fall apart under her hands. He says her name on a choked-off gasp and comes. 

He lies on his side, watching her get up and find a tissue after. She's shamelessly bare from the waist down, and she puts her snapback on again, flushed, grinning at him. 

"That was fun," he says, pushing his hair out of his face and doing up his flies. He's still flopped out on her bed in a weak curve beside the space where her body had been. She drops back into it, touching his jawline absently at first, then more hesitantly when she realizes what she's doing. 

"That's Harry and Zayn," she says for a distraction, pointing over his shoulder at the boys in the pictures on her nightstand. "And my parents. And my brother and my sister-in-law and my nephew Theo." 

"Should I be jealous of those boys?" he asks, frowning.

"They're English like you," she says. "I don't know if that matters. We were in a band, before uni. They're still in the U.K."

He's staring at her in such a way that she blushes harder than when she'd been on her back under his mouth. "And can I still hear a song?" he asks. "And can there be weed after, and then another song after that?"

"Yes," she says, too soft. She clears her throat and reaches out for his beer. "Should I put pants on first?"

"Absolutely not."

"Good answer."

He's still gazing at her as she grabs her guitar, thumb tracing circles on her ankle, and it makes her feel dizzier than the liquor, than kissing him, than his tongue inside her, Jesus. She keeps her eyes down on the guitar strings as she starts to play. She doesn't need to check to know that he's still looking.

**Author's Note:**

> alpha delta pi's symbol is like two peace signs together sideways, which apparently i can't type it because html so whatever . diamonds are forever~!


End file.
